James Dorman
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Stories (17)
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The Grandfather Paradox
It was the summer of love. Well, that’s the way my grandmother always starts the story. It was in fact two years after the summer of love, but that’s not quite as catchy. The spirit of peace, free love and all that hippie shit was alive and well, anyway – it was Woodstock, early hours of Sunday August 17, 1969. My grandmother and grandfather ‘made it’ for the first time. In some of her tellings of the story they ‘went all the way’ for the first time, or some equally sickeningly quaint little metaphor. The key takeaway here is they fucked. This particular fuck would eventually result in my father greeting the world nine months later.
By James Dorman3 years ago in Fiction
Sigil
He was picking at his left forearm again. He’d scratched it red raw, which granted wasn’t a massive change from the normal reddish-pink hue that patch of skin usually boasted. Slightly off-colour thanks to the laser removal of what was a rather clumsy tattoo of a barn owl, wings outstretched. It was an impressive piece, but clumsy. Needle went a bit too deep, ink a bit thick. So it wasn’t the cleanest removal. But then again, She wasn’t a tattoo artist. She was an artist for sure, but inexperienced with that particular medium. He was in fact only Her second canvas, Her first being Her own right forearm where sat an identical bird. That was so long ago now. A lifetime ago, before Rachel.
By James Dorman4 years ago in Fiction
Abandoned Lun- ... Lakehouse
Frozen. The lake is frozen. Well, I say lake – it’s more of a pond, really. But I suppose “pondside cabin retreat” is a bit less enticing as an advert. A bit harder of a sell; “pond” kind of strips away a lot of the romance, doesn’t it?
By James Dorman4 years ago in Fiction
Mr Jefferies’ Retirement
Peter Norman Jefferies had worked 35 years in an accountancy job he hated. Well, hated may be a strong word. He had worked 35 years in an accountancy job he was totally indifferent to; hate was possibly a bit beyond him. For you see, Peter was not particularly a man of peaks and valleys in his emotions, or in his life in general. He entered the field of accountancy because upon completing his O-Levels he scored above average in Mathematics. Not very far above average, mind you (this tendency toward the middle of the bell curve being a repeated pattern in his life) but well enough as to gently nudge him toward a numeric-based occupation. Of all the options available to him, accountancy seemed the safest to fall into. And so, he fell.
By James Dorman4 years ago in Fiction
